The Devil's Highway

by Gregory Norminton

  Other side of stockade its no use creepin. We run till our hearts bash gainst our ribs. Back to the grove. Find others, grab loot, get away from Lans cries.

  Malk Efia tumble into the hidin place. Lost for thinks we say nuthin, only Beccas sobbin.

  Lets go, say Nathin.

  No, say Becca.

  Winshams got Lan now. They learn our hideyway then come for us.

  But Lan! You say we get back. All on us.

  Malk say nuthin his head droppin but Aban see him look his way. Too late, Aban say. They got her now but she wont come to harm leastways not killin.

  Forced hitchin, say Efia. Forced hitchin an sprogs till she die of one in her upways.

  Or grindin, say Becca, till some bloke pox her.

  Shes lost, say Malk. Like us if we dont shift. You on yer backs an Aban me kickin on a gibber.

  Blokes voices on the plain. Lamps swingin, old church bells dangin an all Winsham up searchin for us. No time to say, Lan oh Lan, but uppin quick we check our packs an sharpsticks. Malk hand the guidin stick to Aban, nuthin sayin. Aban think before he take it but Malk push it an up it go in Abans fist.

  We run cross scrub till dayup an stedders long gone back to bed.

  Scaldin light an sky like a furnace door left open. Hidin in a wood of yewkas after a fire, leaves still hangin like yellow petals. Becca Rona Nathin Efia. Nathin with the guidin stick case Aban Malk dont make it back. They gone to Bad Shot to shift goods. Hopin news of the raid on Winsham dont beat em to it. Becca Rona moanin, Lan oh Lan, till it get too hot for moans an they sleep. Nathin turnin over the guidin stick praise it, stroke its carvins. Efia search for grubs an locusts tho in her head too its, Lan oh Lan. The group grieve but Efia reckon she an the group not always the same an her pains sharper an deeper cos Lan was her best her closest since they kids together in Roil Wells. How they scape the same fate. Hitchin to old blokes. Old blokes with land an plenty of kids from the wives they bust up havin em. Tho they moms say thats just The Way they aint gonna walk it. Live free together. Live on the run. All lost now an broke.

  Samewhile up north, Malk Aban take booty into Bad Shot. Aban tell all this later. Later when we share whats done. Bad Shot he says a richer sted than Winsham, its walls stronger an more stedders on count of Thirsty Roads traffic an trade. Richer the sted the more talismans outsight. Bad Shots got all see-see boxes with they bust up eyes an coily tails. Heads of crits on poles. Grass dolls hangin from rusty nails. Keep out if you mean bad. Malk Aban mean good. Trade an scarper. No shoppin in Bad Shot. No riskin any lives.

  Wassup, bloke at the gate say. Malk Aban stand whiles stedders frisk em an bung they snouts in our loot. Clothes, a hoe, a pair of sandals, some grain. Aban note the stedders in cammo like juntamen. Two on the ramparts holdin akays.

  Hotten innit, say Malk but the stedders ignore him. One, a heavy bloke with a bust nose an face tattoos, point his cosh at him. Do you follow the Law, he say.

  How so bro, say Malk.

  How so you worship the Law yer maker an fear the Law yer breaker.

  Oh for show, say Aban, for show.

  Bad Shots a loyal sted an a christun.

  We trade, say Aban, only with christun folk.

  The big bloke suck his teeth lookin at em. Dont sound like hoofers, he say an gob over his shoulder. Biddy welcome.

  Cheers, say Malk but he walk into the blokes cosh. Hot breath in his face an black eyes borin into him. Any grief, say the bloke, an kites ul peck out yer eyes.

  Makes sense dunnit, say Aban.

  The Law have eyes an see you. Send fleshflies to blow yer corse if you cross him. Malk Aban watch the cosh fall an draggin the loot they enter Bad Shot under the akays waitin muzzles.

  Cheerful bloke, say Malk.

  Cheerful sted, say Aban. Soon as done we best be off.

  Rightyer, say Malk.

  Bad Shot stink an swelt in the sun. Houses of tarp an breezeblock from the Fast Time manshuns. Stedders in white curters an jelabas. Women carryin water in bark pots. Bowleg kids young as five heave they bros an sissies on they backs. Smell of dead crits an donkey shit. Dogs skulkin for grub, cowerin gainst sticks or stones. More blokes in junta gear watchin from doorways. Aban whisper, Jorjes Army?

  Malk shake his head. Long time since the junta send its army west. Boys find the market at a crossroads. Few stalls under canvas. Women pickin over dusty melons, piggly pears, roast locusts. Bunnies showin pink where they innards cut out, the bald flesh peppery with flies. Stedders eyes slide to the goods the boys carryin. Costin. Considerin. Aban find one stall got what they lookin for. What for a dewcloth, he ask the stall bloke.

  What you got?

  This hoe.

  Bloke shake his head.

  This hoe an these sandals.

  Bloke or bitch?

  Small bloke big bitch, say Malk an the stedder crack a smile. Got him now.

  Bloke hand over a dewcloth. Know how to use it, he ask.

  We know, say Malk. How bout plasters?

  Some. You?

  Malk Aban take out stole clothes but keep the grain hid in they packs. Stall bloke make a lemon suck face. For yer wife, say Aban. He tug out a yellow sari. Gotcha gain think Malk cos the blokes eyes bulge an, Maybe why not, he say, tryin too late to swallow his greedy look.

  This for plasters an that bucket there.

  Keep her smiling, say the stall bloke as he stow the sari out of sight. Where you boys from?

  Whey Bitch, say Aban fast an easy. The Wen before that.

  Wenners eh? Met a bloke once ran slave ships in Canny Wolf.

  Dunno Canny Wolf, say Aban.

  Tradin place innit. Where you headin?

  Malk go shifty, look to move, but Aban play it fast. North, he say. Lookin for harvest work. No sooner the words loose than he want to catch em back cos the stall bloke frown an wall up gainst em. Best scapes forward, Aban think, an fearin a sweat on him he say, Wassup bro? North no good is it?

  Dunno, say the stall bloke. Not up the Middens leastways. Word is its steds vee hoofers like when you was lads. The bloke lean close, his fat arm in his wares. Hoofers like weeds, he say. Pluck em up an they grow back all over. Cos of the Dry see an folk what grow stuff claimin land off the lifestock.

  So whats new, say Malk.

  Its numbers innit. Breed like rats them hoofers. Loud enuf for half Bad Shot to hear the bloke add, Ousters most on em. Not christun folk thats for show. Lose animals in the Dry an they raid a sted. Stedders wont have it an why should they? Call on Jorjes Army. Back to axes an mashtis.

  Nuthin stedders cant sort out, say Aban, wantin to go. Jorjes lot ul see it right.

  Rightyer but they – The stall bloke lean in again an whisper. They bring trouble an all. Looters do. Rob good folk soon as bad.

  Aban Malk give no thinks to this. Seein as we headin west, fightin in the Middens no fret of ours. Fact, worse things get the better, cos stedders watchin hoofers mean less eyes for us. Aban Malk go to leave but the blokes not done. Like he want to warn the boys.

  Looters bad enuf, he say. But worse follow.

  Like what?

  Slavers. Blokes huntin fresh meat. Bounty men.

  Aban burn on a sudden hotter than the day call it. He drop his grain pack.

  If theres a price, say the stall bloke, after kids whats grown up runnin –

  Not our prob, say Malk.

  For show for show. Still an I mean watchyer. For bounty men a lookylikes good enuf. Theres prizes on all sorts of heads. Crims on the run. Scaped slaves. You name it they lookin. Not so many blocks on bizness when wars afoot.

  The boys get away fast as clever. Did the stall bloke know em? Guess they story? Fast an nabber free they barter clothes for saltmeat, rope an bundles of tarp. Grain goes for bags of sorghum an maize. Supplies better than Aban see in Winsham but here too signs of hunger. One bloke in a side streets skinnin a dog strung up by its back legs.

  What yer think, say Malk as they shoulder they packs. Bout slaver talk an bounty men?
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  Think nuthin, say Aban. Nor say nuthin till we far from this shithouse. Silent they walk under the gate where the sentries sit, scannin the Thirsty for signs of trouble.

  Crawlin thru scrub longside the Thirsty Road. Keepin low case stedder patrols or juntamen see us. Packs on our backs. Sweat drippin from our chins an guts full but brains hungerin for shade. On, keep on. Till Rona Becca crump to they knees.

  Upyer, say Malk.

  Upyer own, say Becca.

  Crits aint stirrin, say Rona. Birds shush. Even carders restin.

  Aban offer his jercan but Rona shake her head an push it back.

  So Nathin Aban scout off ahead whiles Rona Becca Malk Efia rest in sharp an furzy shade. Soon Nathin Aban come back.

  Got a place, say Nathin. Up the hill an not far off. No blokes about.

  One bloke, say Aban. But he wont say nuthin.

  Up at the ruin off the Thirsty we all look up. The corse hang from the gibber in a halo of flies. Eyes et by crows, face black like a bad fruit. Efia look at the square of bark danglin from the dead foot. She can read tho no one else can.

  They hang him, she say, for startin a bush fire.

  Way to go, say Nathin.

  Stinks an all, say Rona. Leave him to his thinks.

  Becca take Efias hand. We cant stay here, she say. Not next to that.

  Best place for us, say Malk. Smell ul drive blokes elseways. Bad luck an cross a workin gibber.

  Its bad luck is bad on us too, say Becca. Cant sleep the night an him rottin just outsight.

  Malk pull angry at the pray patch in his cloak. Look, he say. Alla Man give em to us. Magic powers in magic words from far off. Magic an the Laws word.

  So, say Becca.

  So we got cover. Words keep danger off.

  An we think good on the corse, say Efia, puttin a hand on Beccas neck, corse think good on us. Right?

  The group all gree till Becca stop her moanin.

  Into the ruin we go. Nuthin but a dusty shell, tho cooler in than out. Some keep watch while others sleep. Efia sit with Aban. She look round the room wonderin if its a Fast Time manshun. Not built for now, thats for show. In Roil Wells back when she serve in a salt merchants house, it were tall an deep an dark, it were like a net to catch the breeze. Him an his wife baskin in it like fish in water. This ruin tho made for easy livin. No breeze holes nor ducts save whats done by time an weather.

  Tell me, say Efia, what you see.

  Aban shrug. He watch the road all slick like a river of heat. Sand each side like a cauldron simmerin. Land curvin off in a smudge of haze.

  Efia drink from her jercan an Aban from his. Share some saltmeat an beetle grubs from the yewka grove.

  Beccas fraid, say Efia.

  Aint she always?

  Rona keep her strong but she cant carry her all the way.

  Dont worry bout Becca.

  You reckon its true, say Efia. Bout the patch magic?

  Dont you?

  Dunno. Aint what I hold to.

  Its what we got.

  Efia Aban sit sweatin with no more thinks between em. So begin the Numb. Waitins not the word, for waitins a doin an the Numb dont act nor want neither. Its like gettin to be a stone. Or a lizard on a rock. Head empty an heart slow. No pictures, no sayin. All shut down till the heat drop. Wait without waitin for time to start again.

  Aban stand when Malk Rona join us. Malk naked, his brown skin gleamin, scars like a map of rivers cross his torso. Efia see Malk hard. Rona fix him, Malk fix her back, her eyes black an sweat on her lip, her breasts bare, Lans necklace of shells tuck between em. No word sayin Efia stir beside him, she lift her shirt an Abans risin too. Efias breasts small, the nips dark an scars in rings bout her belly nub. Malk Rona curl like cats on the floor, Rona take Malk in her gob, Malk groan oh, an Efia bare now, her dress like a pool bout her feet, her feet specky with sand, the slave brand like a half moon on her hip. Aban fix her face, shes weepin Lan, an he lift his jelaba, smell of him sheddin like a skin. Naked Aban go to Malk Rona tremblin place his hands on Ronas head, Malk groanin. Efia creep to bind Aban in her arms, her breasts gainst his back. Some time after, the room blue with shadow, an Becca come step over Rona Aban Malk Efia, step over us, see into her, she squat an the stink of her, Efias black hair tangle in Beccas red an Becca Efia Malk Rona Aban tangle blue in moonlight an now Nathin come, Becca Rona part to take him, he sink into the river of flesh, the one current drag us all one, Rona Becca Aban Efia Malk Nathin, all fuse writhin an bodies blue in moonlight an his on her an my on his an Becca Rona Nathin Aban an Malk Aban an Rona Aban oh Lan Aban Aban

  Efia!

  wake in belly of night, the moon set an the group flesh to flesh. No sound but the trees only. Leaf whisper Efia take at first for rain. Not rain tho. None for months now. She lie with Rona pressin gainst her, the room smellin of sweat an sleep an cum. The group smell. Becca lie curl up knees gainst her elbows, gob open, corner of her thumb restin in it. Cool at last. Cool that wont stay cos a new days heatin up already out east where the days hatch, but for now a breeze an hearin Efia shiver Aban grope for clothes, his or hers or others, he crawl with the clothes an pull em gentle cross her thigh an belly.

  Aban feel to the window look out cross the black still river of the road. See the lighter body of sand each side. Star shadow of the gibber an its lonely corse. Feel the breeze on his skin. More than the corse ul ever do. Live for this. For the dark hours an the smell of night.

  Light flickers in the web of trees. Like a star but not so high. Flicker again. Not one star but four or five. More than five. Like part of the nights come down to earth.

  Malks beside him. Malks hand on his shoulder.

  Bad Shot?

  Aban shake his head. Closer, he say. Aban Malk lean half out like stoats sniffin the air, like crits peerin from a burrow. Fraid of the world an its hunger. Come, whisper Malk, an Aban follow cross sleepers into the house, up broke stairs all dusty an heaps of stuff too dark an smash to reckon. Into the room where Malk Rona Becca Nathin sleep out the hot time earlier. Aban grope in the dark but Malk know his way. To a window facin west. Still glass in this, leastways fangs of glass, the middle smash out long ago. Malk Aban look out cross the Thirsty Road, other side all the way to West Cunny. All our hopes there. An more lights strollin. Far off gainst trees a glow of flames. Mid the rain song of nearby trees they listen. Voices just. Grumblin of camels an horses cryin.

  Stedders, say Aban.

  Could be hoofers.

  Middens too far off. More likely stedders. Or juntamen diggin in. Leastways Thirstys under watch.

  Road go straight our way.

  Till we get done. Load of trollers versus you me an Nathin? Walkin into bad lucks bedroom innit.

  Sez you.

  Full on campments Malk? Stedders in cammo an akays bout they necks? You see em in Bad Shot.

  I see em.

  Go low, say Aban. Cross country.

  You fraid of slavers? Fraid we hang for Feo?

  Fraid on lots of things Malk. Dayup soon. Best be off.

  Cross scrub you reckon?

  Elseways a dead way.

  Livins a dead way. Only place we know we goin.

  But not yet Malk.

  No.

  Not yet.

  Malk nod. Thirsty Roads shut to us. Empty Road further souths a junta supply route.

  Well before dayup the groups gone an melted into the heave.

  4

  Blueface

  The canopy knitted above him, the bones of its oaks clattering and creaking in the wind. Andagin was not afraid. He knew how, after leaf-burst, the trees would transform into a green net to catch the sun. For now they slept, they whispered in their dreaming and he slowed his pace not to wake them.

  In the midst of the wood there was a brook the colour of rust. He meant to try his luck there. He had a few hazelnuts in his pack but hoped it would be enough to break the ice and use the flowing water as bait.

  He had not been long at setting new sna
res, the nettle string unspooled between his fingers, when he heard the snapping of branches. His first thought was to reach for his bow, but it took only a breath to gauge the size of what broke the quiet.

  He strained to hear voices and knew from their cadence that these were his people. Footfalls cracked twigs, crunched in snow, and he watched through a veil of alders the familiar shapes of his brother and Barocunas and their cousin Lugh.

  Barocunas was first, leaning his bulk into the undergrowth to fray a passage. Lugh, his ginger mane dusted with snow, appeared intent on explaining something which Judoc bent sideways to hear.

  Andagin crossed the brook at a single bound. The noise startled the others, for as he skipped towards them, anticipating his cousin’s wrestling embrace and a brotherly hand on his shoulder, he saw the young men stiffen.

  ‘I am laying traps. I caught a hare.’

  Lugh waved, not to greet him but to urge him back. Andagin faltered as Barocunas lumbered towards him.

  ‘Are you spying on us?’

  Andagin held out the cordage and knife. Barocunas inspected the objects as if unsure what to make of them.

  ‘You must not follow us.’

  ‘I was not.’

  ‘We are just walking.’ This did not account for the cold reception so Barocunas spoke again. Words seemed to cost him. ‘We have things to do.’

  ‘What things?’

  ‘Our own.’

  ‘Can I speak to Judoc?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘He is needed at home.’

  Barocunas rested a heavy hand on the boy’s skull. ‘Go back to the heath. Lay your traps there. Stay away from the trees.’

  Andagin watched his brother and the others walk away, into the fastness of the snowbound wood.

  The cold was a mask on his face that made his tears sting. He hated himself for his weakness.

  He waited until the trees and the hill had swallowed Judoc, Lugh and Barocunas.

  Defiance and indecision churned within him. He felt them settle.

  The hare would slow him down so he stowed it in the fork of a pollarded birch and covered it with dead bracken. The squirrel he broke and folded into his pack so that it would not snag.